corestar.blogg.se - Scale of evil tabletop roleplaying games

Mistress of the Seven Hills, and All I Survey Let’s give our hypothetical dragon some scales, wings, claws…and a few aspects and approaches: To look at how all of this works, we need an example threat.

It allows human-sized players to easily interact with giant scale threats.

It keeps the range of skills and shifts the same for giant scale.

It puts the focus not on what the threat is doing, but how it’s doing it.

With giant threats, using an approach for its stats does a few things: The fix came when Clark Valentine suggested I use approaches to signal scale. Fate’s a game of big action, and when you combine that with Norse myth, it makes little warriors go for the giants.

If I’d squished them outright, it would have taken away their autonomy. In the early playtests, however, the first thing the players wanted to do was the climb the big dwarven destroyers to attack. I wanted to highlight the value of having a giant of your own in your group. I thought that would express the danger of the giants. In an early draft of the game, my rule for handling giant threats was simple: if it’s bigger than you and it hits you, you’re dead. I ran into this problem when I was writing Iron Edda: War of Metal and Bone where giants and giant-scale threats feature prominently.

You could add more stress boxes, give higher skills, sure. In Fate Core, there aren’t any specific guidelines for how to, say, throw a giant at your players, or a kaiju. Bigger things hit harder, move more slowly, get more hit points, and so on. In a lot of traditional roleplaying games, there are mechanical ways to handle scale. When you round the last corner and the tunnel opens into the lair itself, you’ve got one thought: There’s an ambient glow that gets brighter as you proceed. It doesn’t pay to wake a dragon, especially when you’re looking to steal from it. You’re creeping through the tunnels of the dragon’s lair, trying to stay as quiet as possible.